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Summary
Summary
Portland detective Archie Sheridan spent years tracking Gretchen Lowell, a beautiful and brutal serial killer. In the end, she was the one who caught him...and tortured him...and then let him go. Why did Gretchen spare Archie's life and then turn herself in? This is the question that keeps him up all night--and the reason why he has visited Gretchen in prison every week since.
Meanwhile, another series of murders is tearing up the Portland streets. Archie seems to be getting closer to solving this high-profile case...until he finds himself in a fatal collision course with the killer--one that inevitably leads him back to his former captor. Gretchen may be the only one who can help do justice. The only thing she can't do, this time, is save Archie's life.
Author Notes
Writer Chelsea Cain was born in Iowa City, Iowa on February 5, 1972 and lived on a commune in Iowa and then in Bellingham, Washington. She studied political science at the University of California at Irvine, graduating in 1994. She also attended the University of Iowa's graduate school of journalism and has written for several newspapers, including The Oregonian. While at Iowa, she wrote a weekly column for The Daily Iowan. Her master¿s thesis at the University of Iowa became Dharma Girl, a memoir about Cain's early childhood on the hippie commune. One of her professors presented it to several editors for review, and Seal Press picked it up as Cain's first published work. She was 24 years old. Cain publishes in several genres and has penned a memoir, works of humor, and thrillers. After working as a Creative Director at a PR firm in Portland for several years, Cain began writing humor books in her spare time, including The Hippie Handbook: How to Tie-Dye a T-Shirt, Flash a Peace Sign, and Other Essential Skills for the Carefree Life Confessions of a Teen Sleuth, and Does this Cape Make Me Look Fat? Pop-Psychology for Superheroes, which Cain co-wrote with her husband. Cain also composed a weekly column for Portland¿s alternative newspaper, The Portland Mercury,and started contributing to Portland¿s major daily, The Oregonian in 2003when she left marketing behind to focus on writing full-time. Her last column with The Oregonian was posted on December 28, 2008. She wrote her first thriller Heartsick in 2004, while pregnant with her daughter. It was published in 2007, and was an instant New York Times Bestseller along wirh her other works Sweetheart, Evil at Heart, and Let Me Go.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (3)
School Library Journal Review
Adult/High School-The shocking opening chapter of this thriller lets readers know they're in for a rough ride through the minds of damaged people, including a drug-addicted police detective and an ambitious newspaper reporter. Two years earlier, a sadistic female serial killer captured and tortured Archie Sheridan, the lead detective on the Beauty Killer Task Force, leaving an indelible impression on his psyche and numerous physical scars. Now a new serial killer is stalking Portland, OR, and Archie is called back to duty to head a new task force. Susan Ward, a bright, offbeat reporter, is surprised to get the inside track on the investigation from him. It seems that he is finally willing to expose his feelings about Gretchen Lowell, the Beauty Killer, but Susan will have to reveal her secrets as well. Vaguely reminiscent of Thomas Harris's The Silence of the Lambs (St. Martin's, 1988), with the setup of the serial-killer psychiatrist trading information while working her own angle, the novel has plenty of gruesome details, building suspense, false leads, and startling imagery in a setting so realistic that readers will feel damp and chilled. This one is for teens who like their stories gritty, grim, and gory.-Charli Osborne, Oxford Public Library, MI (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Publisher's Weekly Review
McCormick delivers an uneven performance in her reading of Cain's bestselling debut thriller. Gretchen Lowell, "The Beauty Killer," was one of the most prolific serial killers in history, claiming over 200 lives. Her only surviving victim was Archie Sheridan, the lead detective on the task force set up to apprehend her. Archie was tortured for days until Lowell inexplicably turned herself in. Two years later Archie is still a victim, on leave from the force, estranged from his family, addicted to pain pills and obsessively visiting Gretchen weekly. When a new killer begins murdering teenage girls, Archie is called back into action. By his side is an ambitious, pink-haired news reporter who may become her own page-one headline. The usually reliable McCormick has a rocky start with the first few chapters. Her clipped, overarticulation of each line keeps listeners at a distance instead of immersing them in the mesmerizing events taking place. However, she does improve as the story moves forward, and her rich, throaty portrayal of Gretchen Lowell is the perfect blend of predator and seductress. Simultaneous release with the St. Martin's Minotaur hardcover (Reviews, July 16). (Sept.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Library Journal Review
Police detective Archie Sheridan has been on sick leave for almost two years after being kidnapped and tortured by serial killer Gretchen Lowell. The appearance of a new killer brings Archie back to work. While Archie attends to the new case, he continues to visit Gretchen in prison; her psychological hold over him remains as she doles out the names of her 200 victims, one by one. Then a local high school teacher is found dead. Was he the new killer committing suicide, or is it a setup? Cain (Confessions of a Teen Sleuth) resides in Portland, OR, where her story is set, and this gives richness to her descriptions. Her characters are spooky, with lots of quirks and human failings. Well read by Carolyn McCormick, Heartsick is recommended for general fiction collections. [BBC Audiobooks America also has a version available: 9 CDs. unabridged. 13 hrs. 2007. ISBN 978-0-7927-5022-2. $89.95.-Ed.]-Joanna M. Burkhardt, Coll. of Continuing Education Lib., Univ. of Rhode Island, Providence (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
Chapter 1 Archie doesn't know for sure that it's her until that moment. There is a dull bloom of warmth in his spine, his vision blurs, and then he knows that Gretchen Lowell is the killer. He realizes that he has been drugged, but it is too late. He fumbles for his gun, but he is ham-fisted and can only lift it awkwardly from his belt clip and hold it out as if it were a gift to her. She takes it and smiles, kissing him gently on the forehead. Then she reaches into his coat and takes the cell phone, turning it off and slipping it into her purse. He is almost paralyzed now, slumped in the leather chair in her home office. But his mind is a prison of clarity. She kneels down next to him, the way one might a child, and puts her lips so close to his that they are almost kissing. His pulse throbs in his throat. He can't swallow. She smells like lilacs. "It's time to go, darling," she whispers. She stands then, and he is lifted from behind, elbows under his armpits. A man in front of him, red-faced and heavy, takes his legs, and he is carried into the garage and laid in the back of the green Voyager--the vehicle Archie and his task force have spent months looking for--and she crawls in on top of him. He realizes then that there is someone else in the van, that she wasn't the one behind him, but he doesn't have time to process this because she is straddling his torso, a knee pressing on either side of his waist. He cannot move his eyes anymore, so she narrates for his benefit. "I'm rolling up your right sleeve. I'm tying off a vein." Then she holds up a hypodermic in his sight line. Medical training, he thinks. Eighteen percent of female serial killers are nurses. He is staring at the ceiling of the van. Gray metal. Stay awake, he thinks. Remember everything, every detail; it will be important. He thinks, If I live. "I'm going to let you rest for a little while." She smiles and puts her flat, pretty face in front of his so he can see her, her blond hair brushing his cheek, though he cannot feel it. "We'll have plenty of time for fun later." He cannot respond, cannot even blink now. His breath comes in long, shallow rasps. He cannot see her push the needle in his arm, but he assumes she has, because then there is only darkness. He wakes up on his back. He is still groggy, and it takes him a moment to realize that the red-faced man is standing over him. In this moment, the very first moment of Archie's awareness, the man's head explodes. Archie jerks as the man's blood and brain matter blow forward, splattering Archie's face and chest, a vomit of warm, clotted fluid. He tries to move, but his hands and feet are bound to a table. He feels a piece of something hot slide down his face and slop onto the floor, and he pulls hard against the bindings until his skin breaks, but he cannot budge them. He gags, but his mouth is taped shut, forcing the bile back into his throat, making him gag again. His eyes burn. Then he sees her, standing behind where the man's body has fallen, holding the gun she has just used to execute him. "I wanted you to understand right away how committed I am to you," she says. "That you are the only one." And then she turns and walks away. He is left then to contemplate what has just happened. He swallows hard, willing himself to remain calm, to look around. He is alone. The man is dead on the floor. Gretchen is gone. The driver of the van is gone. Archie's blood is pulsing so violently that it is the only sensation. Time passes. At first, he thinks he is in an operating room. It is a large space, walled with white ceramic subway tiles and well lit by fluorescent lights. He turns his head from side to side and sees several trays of instruments, medical-looking machinery, a drain on the cement floor. He strains again at his binds and realizes that he is strapped to a gurney. Tubes are coming in and out of him: a catheter, an IV. There are no windows in the room and a faint earthy smell skirts the edge of his consciousness. Mildew. A basement. He starts to think like a cop now. The others had been tortured for a couple of days before she dumped the bodies. That meant that he had time. Two days. Maybe three. They could find him in that amount of time. He had told Henry where he was going, that he had a psych consult about the newest body. He had wanted to see her, to get her advice. He was not prepared for this. But they would connect it. Henry would connect it. It would be the last place to which he could be traced. He had made a call to his wife on the way. That would be the last point of contact. How much time had passed since he had been taken? She is there again. On the other side of the table from where the body still lies, thick, dark blood seeping onto the gray floor. He remembers when she had first introduced herself--the psychiatrist who had given up her practice to write a book. She had read about the task force and had called him to see if she could help. It had been hell on all of them. She offered to come in. Not counseling, she had said. Just talk. They had been working on the case for almost ten years. Twenty-three bodies in three states. It had taken a toll. She invited those who were interested to come to a group session. Just talk. He had been surprised at how many of the detectives had shown. It might have had something to do with the fact that she was beautiful. The funny thing was, it had helped. She was very good. She pulls the white sheet covering him down so that his chest is exposed, and he realizes that he's naked. There is no self-consciousness attached to it. It is merely a fact. She places a hand flat on his breastbone. He knows what this means. He has memorized the crime photos, the abrasions and burns on the torsos. It is part of the profile, one of her signatures. "Do you know what comes next?" she asks, knowing that he does. He needs to talk to her. To stall. He makes a garbled noise through the duct tape and motions with his head for her to take it off. She touches her finger to his lips and shakes her head. "Not just yet," she says softly. She asks it again. A little more harshly. "Do you know what comes next?" He nods. She smiles, satisfied. "That's why I prepared something special for you, darling." She has an instrument tray beside her and she turns and withdraws something from it. A hammer and nail. Interesting, he thinks, amazed at his ability to detach from himself, to remain clinical. So far the victims had been seemingly random, male, female, young, old, but the torso damage, though it had evolved, had been notably consistent. She had never used nails before. She seems pleased. "I thought you'd appreciate some variety." She lets her fingertips dance up his rib cage until she finds the rib she is looking for and then she places the point of the nail against his skin and comes down hard with the hammer. He feels the explosion of his rib breaking and gags again. His chest burns with pain. He fights to breathe. His eyes water. She wipes a tear from his flushed cheek and caresses his hair, and then she finds another rib and repeats the process. And another. When she is done, she has broken six of his ribs. The nail is wet with blood. She lets it drop with an innocuous clink back on the instrument tray. He can't shift his body even a millimeter without a searing pain, like none he has ever felt. His nasal passages have clogged with mucus, he can't breathe through his mouth, he has to brace himself for agony with every lung expansion, and still he can't make himself breathe shallowly, can't slow the panicked, heavy pants that sound like sobs. Maybe two days was optimistic, he thinks. Maybe he would just die now. Copyright (c) 2007 by Verite, Inc. All rights reserved. Excerpted from Heartsick by Chelsea Cain All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.